


Supplicium

by disorderedorder, MagpieMinx (CardinalFox)



Series: Dominus [2]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Blood Play, Bondage, Both the two previously mentioned things happened with a belt, Cum Eating, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom!Guy, F/M, Guy is an English style riding instructor, Knife Play, Modern AU, Multiple genital piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pussy whipping, Sensory Deprivation, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, You are his live-in girlfriend, blindfold, cum sharing, equestrian AU, sub!you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10002575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disorderedorder/pseuds/disorderedorder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardinalFox/pseuds/MagpieMinx
Summary: All that punishment, but still no surprise, or at least not that you see.





	

Guy runs an attentive finger between the silk-blend rope of the harness he’s tied you into and your skin, checking to make sure that this section of it isn’t too tight.  The process of tying you into the harness had been a little tedious despite the anticipation, despite the way he let his hands linger against your body, small promises of things to come.  Your wrists are currently free, and you’re toying with the loose end of the rope that he’ll re-tie once he’s done with the rest of you.  There’s a long column of woven black rope stretching up the front of your body, looping over your shoulders and around your neck, a tail draped down your back for your wrists.  The front is attached to a harness that loops around your hips and under your ass, framing the apex between your thighs.  The effect is both complex and simple, minimalist and ornate.

He gently turns you over onto your stomach.  You turn your head to rest your cheek on the fitted sheet he’s put over the mattress, wondering vaguely where the waterproof layer in it is.  You end up closing your eyes as Guy rests a warm, gloved hand on your upturned ass as you push it up into his palm.  He rubs a gentle circle between the two rungs of rope above and below your cheeks.  He lingers there for a moment, then moves your arms into position, wrapping and weaving the tail of the rope around your wrists, checking again to make sure that it’s not too tight.

“How does that feel?” he asks as he withdraws, probably to admire his work.  It’s enough to make you shiver, thinking of the way his eyes must be roving your bound body, and you squirm a little, testing the ropes.  The knots are solid and there’s only a little give.  It’s a little terrifying how helpless you feel, like you’re totally at his mercy even though your legs are free.

“Good,” you say, but your voice is tiny and breathless.  It can’t be the bondage because he’s tied you down more securely than this before, so it must be the fact that it’s been a month since the last time he’s actually fucked you.  He kept telling you that he had a surprise and you’d just need to be patient, he’d tell you when it was ready, trying to keep you content with his mouth and his fingers and occasionally a toy, but you’ve been anxious to get back to your normal routine with him.

You know better than to be relieved that he’ll stop at tying you up, know him too well, know that he wouldn’t dare stop there. You have no idea which blindfold he’s chosen this time, considering you have at least twenty different blindfolds, not including the neckties he’s used in the past. Your wrists are crossed and secure, though the rope connecting them to the loops around your neck and shoulders is long enough that you can almost reach your tailbone with your fingertips.

You feel a hand in your hair, stroking gently, before he wraps that same hand under your chin before the cool silk of your black satin blindfold covers your eyes. He lets your head back down onto the mattress gently, and you shudder. The room isn’t cold, not by a stretch, but you can’t help but shiver. There’s the sound of heavy leather snapping, much louder than a crop, followed by the clink of metal, a warning sound. 

The sound makes you freeze and forget how to breathe, breathless with the threat of what you’re sure is a belt.  Your inhale is shallow and shaky as you tense and shift, and then the belt comes to rest on one side of your ass, one of his hands on the other.  Both are smooth leather, but one is warm and broad, gripping you, the other is cool and narrow, sliding in a gentle back and forth motion over your skin.

“Move too much, darling, and I’ll be taking this belt to your lovely little ass,” Guy tells you, his voice slipping down the scale, “You’ll have some trouble sitting down this week if I do.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, your own voice higher pitched, sounding too afraid.  You inhale again, but it’s still brief, trembling, and Guy chuckles momentarily.

“I’ll give you three strikes before I use the belt, does that seem fair?” he asks, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, sir, that sounds fair,” you respond, shifting your arms and pulling on the ropes.  You want to unfold your limbs and pull off the blindfold, but you can’t.  It’s frightening, and the longer you go without your sight, the more intense your other senses seem to get.  You’re more and more aware of his hand on your ass, squeezing your cheek, massaging it, the warming belt on the other side, still.

“Safeword?” he asks, voice dark, business-like.

“I remember it,” you whisper, and then you feel his lips on the small of your back.

“It’s always on the table if something gets to be too much, darling,” he murmurs without lifting his head, his lips soft as they move over the dip in your spine.

He lays several soft kisses to the small of your back before running his fingers over your back, from the base of your neck to your waist, his touch feather-light. You realize he’s mapping out exactly what he wants to do, where he’s going to cut with the pretty silver knife he showed you the other day. He could put you to sleep, with the way he’s stroking your back, but you’re still anxious, your mind racing too much to even think about sleeping. 

A cold touch of metal makes you jump, and he shushes you gently, his hand coming up to stroke your hair once more. The flat of the blade runs over your back, drawing gentle, curving lines. You feel one mapping your spine, and several smaller ones extending outwards, like he’s drawing wings. You can feel yourself shaking while you fight your nerves to stay still. You know he’d never cut you too deeply, but accidents happen, and you don’t want one happening to you because you just couldn’t hold still.

It makes sense, suddenly, why he decided on punishment for moving around too much.  It doesn’t stop you from wanting to kick and squirm and writhe, but for now, the fear of the belt and the fear of the knife are roughly equal.  He changes the angle of the blade, retracing the pattern he drew out a second time with light pressure on the point.  The sharp tip, still turned sideways and carefully rotated whenever he needs to twist it, scratches your skin.  In your mind’s eye, you can see it leaving little white lines that turn pink and rise after a moment.

The image is quickly followed by one of the tip of the blade carving that line into your back and you can’t help the way you twitch and jerk, whimpering.  The knife is instantly lifted from your back, and then the flat of the blade is slapped smartly against the sole of your foot.  You yelp with surprise, twisting.  Guy’s hand comes down on your ass twice, once on each side.

“Strike one,” he tells you sternly, “Shaking I can let slide, what you just did, I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say quietly, chastised, lifting your head though the angle is awkward for your neck, “It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” he purrs, and continues to trace the intricate pattern he’s decided on. Still, he reaches up and gets his hand on the back your neck, holding you still. You can feel the stinging from all the scratches he’s leaving, but it’s nothing compared to when he starts actually cutting. Like any other cut, it takes a moment for your body to register the pain, but you feel it more and more as he cuts. 

The cuts are shallow, but you can still feel the blood trickling out of them. The stinging is more of a faint throbbing now, as he continues to cut. His hand on your neck is holding you securely, but it’s not enough to keep you from squirming as he goes lower and lower on your back. You feel the knife lift away from your skin, and a moment later, his belt comes down on your ass, hard. He spanks you three times, and you swear you can hear him growling softly. 

“Strike two,” he warns you, gripping the back of your thigh hard enough to leave bruises. 

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, pressing your cheek into the mattress and biting your lip.  There’s the soft sound of something sliding over the sheet by your knee and then the knife returns.  His hand tightens around the back of your neck, thumb and fingers pressing into the sides of your throat as the edge of the blade is laid carefully over the last cut he made.  He continues following the pattern he scratched into your skin earlier, the cool, sharp blade splitting your skin open.

Your back is a mass of heat, concentrating in the places where the knife has parted you as easily as it might the skin of a peach.  Blood is still welling out of the more recent cuts, but it’s drying on some of the earlier ones further up your back, itching as it does.  There are little trails that have made it over the curve of your ribs and dried as they made their way to your front.  You’re trying to control your breathing, to take steady breaths instead of panting, but it’s hard.  Your rhythm falters when he lifts the knife from one line and takes it to another, the momentary alleviation from the pain makes the fresh dose of it all the worse.

You can’t help the involuntary shudders rippling over your skin, and you close your fingers into tight fists, your hands aching as you try to avoid twisting them against the rope.  You can’t help the high pitched keen that slips out between your teeth, or the way your back suddenly bows when he lifts the knife and replaces it again, desperate to make it stop.  Objectively speaking, it’s not nearly as painful as it could be, and you don’t feel any urge to use your safeword, but you do want to struggle, and you’re willing to take the belting rather than have Guy continue carving into your back.

“Three strikes,” Guy growls, the knife instantly pulled away.  There’s a clatter as he drops it onto the tray he left it on while he was binding you earlier, and you whimper and squirm, anticipating what’s to come.  The cuts on your back burn as you writhe, quickly stilling you, and then his gloved hand comes down on your ass again abruptly.  Your sound of surprise is half-muffled by the mattress, and then he’s flipping you easily onto your back.

You still can’t see anything, but you don’t have to to know he’s glaring, teeth bared, belt doubled over in one hand. You hear it being pulled back before he smacks your cunt, making you whine and squirm even more than before. He doesn’t give you the pleasure of hearing him growl or purr or even speak, he just slaps your cunt with his belt, holding you open with one hand.

The heat of his hand through the leather feels like it’s burning, searing your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of him hitting your pussy with his belt, landing some strikes to your inner thighs, some of the lighter hits landing dangerously close to your clit. You can’t help the endless stream of needy cries and whines coming out of your mouth, and you’re surprised he hasn’t gagged you yet. You feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you feel yourself getting wetter, needing something, anything on your clit, even if it’s just his fingers. 

Your knees snap together every couple of hits, but he just forces them apart again.  The impact of the belt is loud and it burns afterwards, burns as much as the cuts on your back do as you thrash on the mattress.  When he stops, it’s suddenly, and he laughs briefly, cruelly.

“You’re leaving wet marks all over my belt, do you know that?” he asks, slapping the belt against your inner thigh and making you cry out again, dragging it against your skin.  Through the burn, you can feel something sticky coating the leather, but before you can reply, he continues, “Filthy little whore, are you enjoying having your naughty little cunt whipped?”

Your answer, you find out quickly, doesn’t actually matter that much because he brings the belt down twice in a sharp succession of strikes that makes you shriek, your hips jerking.  It’s immediately followed by two of his fingers being dragged through your folds, slipping much too easily against you.  You twitch at the sudden pressure against your core, fleeting though it is, clenching around nothing.  Your pussy is doubly sore, hot and swollen from arousal as much as the beating.

Your back arches and you can’t help moaning loudly when those two fingers are thrust roughly into you, pumping in and out, tips curled against your walls to find that one spot that will make you scream if he hits it hard enough and long enough.  The leather is smooth inside your cunt, blunting his fingers and making them wider, slippery as they become coated in your slick.  Just as abruptly as he put them in you, his fingers are withdrawn, and then a second later they’re shoved into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and pushing back towards your throat.  You gag as he fucks your mouth with his fingers, whining as you try to suck on them, clumsily working your tongue over the leather.

“Dirty little bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, sounding very much like he’s gloating, “You like having your pussy whipped, it makes you hot, gets you wet.  Maybe I should do that every day, hm?  Flogger, a crop, a belt, a paddle, my hand, what do you think?  I can make that cunt red and swollen and bruised every day for you, wet little slut.”  He punctuates the last sentence by hitting your pussy with the belt again, shoving his fingers further into your mouth when you sob around them so that you gag.

“Is that what you want, my darling little whore?  You want me to make your cunt ache for me every day?”

He’s got his fingers so far into your mouth that you really can’t answer, and you’re wondering if he even wants you to say anything at this point. You yelp when he flips you back over on your stomach, pulling your hips up and pushing your head down, exposing your cunt to him fully as he continues to spank you. You can feel your wetness dripping down your thighs, and you’re shaking when you feel him stop whipping you briefly to run his fingers over the inside of your thigh. It never occurs to you that he might whip you harder for moving even more, but you’re quickly reminded when he slaps the very tops of the back of your thighs, making you cry out.

“And to think I was going to give you a little surprise, too,” he muses with false sympathy. He’s stopped whipping you now, but he quickly finds a new use for his belt. He loops it around your thighs, pulling it taut, and binding your thighs together, leaving your legs immobile. He purrs in satisfaction, undoubtedly admiring just how helpless you are. 

“You know, keeping it a secret from you was hard for me,” he says, his voice full of false concern. He has one hand on your ass, deceptively gentle, while the other hand is pulling the belt tighter, tucking the loose end through the belt. “Every night, I wished it was my cock, not my tongue, in that tight little cunt of yours.”

You’re gasping for breath as he pulls you apart with his hands, spreading you open.  It’s strange to feel so exposed while having your thighs bound together the way they are, and you struggle, whimpering.  He snorts, and you’re fairly sure it’s because the only thing you’ve really achieved here is wriggling in a way he probably finds enticing.  The cool air on your overheated, swollen pussy is unbearable, both because it feels too good and because it’s too cold.

“You’ll still get your surprise, darling, but you don’t get to see it,” he continues, “Not yet, at least.  You’ll just have to  _ feel _ it.”  He lets go of you and there’s the sound of him popping open the button on his pants, the sound of him pulling down the zipper.  You’re wondering what it is that he’s done, why this ‘surprise’ has been an entire month coming.  You don’t have much time to wonder as his hands seize your hips, pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

You jerk when the tip of his cock skims your cunt, whimper as he presses the length of his entire cock against you-

“Wha- What is  _ that _ ?” you gasp, but you get no response as he rocks against you, “Wait, wait-  What is-  Sir-”  There are several hard little nodules on his cock, grinding against your sensitive skin, unyielding.  He lets out a pleased little hum, and then he takes the tip, rubs it against you before pressing the head of his dick into you.

“Wait-” you try to say again, and then his hand settles comfortingly on the back of your neck.

“Shhhh,” he answers, shushing you, “It’s okay, just let it happen.  It won’t hurt you, darling.”  

He presses into you slowly, letting you feel each little nodule slip inside you, rubbing against your walls. You’re breathing hard against the mattress, trying to figure out what he’s done, wondering if this is why he’s been in the bathroom so much for the past month, why he hasn’t let you shower with him, and why he’s always slipping off somewhere else to change. You wiggle your hips back against him, trying to get him to slip into you further, but all it achieves is making him stop altogether, waiting for you to stop moving before he continues to push himself inside you. 

He gets one hand on your waist, stroking gently, the other twisting into your hair as you feel him slip inside you even further. He takes his time, giving you a moment to adjust after each set of hard studs climbing the underside of his cock. He’s big enough to make you feel like he’s bruising your cervix when he fucks you already; with the addition of this ‘surprise,’ you’re breathless before he’s even inside you halfway. 

You hear him let out a soft, breathy moan as he rolls his hips, and he hisses something through his teeth, something about how tight you are with your thighs together like this. He moves his hand from your waist to the middle of your back, bracing himself, it seems. He seems to be growing impatient as he growls and increases his speed as he pushes into you. Suddenly, he’s no longer giving you time to adjust to each pair of studs. 

The studs rake your insides, dragging against that spot on the front of your walls, hard, but smooth.  The touch of resistance as they slip out of you and then back in is an entirely other sensation in comparison.  There’s also the burn of Guy’s still-gloved hand on your decorated back, the ache every time he bottoms out, hips striking the swollen and sensitive flesh of your pussy and ass, cock reaching to your cervix.  Together, all these overwhelm you instantly, have you twisting, looking for something to grip with your hands, screaming into the mattress.

Every thrust has you crying out, shrieking something that’s supposed to be his name or his title, but that’s mostly unintelligible as you sob into the mattress.  You can’t even hear him over the noise you’re making, but you can feel yourself tightening around him, suddenly on the edge of orgasm without him having even touched your clit.  Another stroke, another thrust, and then you’re crying into the mattress as heat floods your body from your feet to your face.

You’re still orgasming when Guy reaches around your hips, forcing his fingers between your thigh to roughly rub your clit.  You yell brokenly, bucking against him, the touch too much for your over-sensitive body.  He growls from somewhere above you, the sound loud, his fingers still moving over your clit and shoving you into a second orgasm that has you gushing around his cock.  His hips are still pistoning in and out of you, every thrust accompanied by a filthy-wet noise.

“What do you want?” he growls, pinching your clit hard, rubbing harsh, rough circles as he continues to thrust into you. “Tell me, whore.”   
  
“I want-” you sob, turning your head so you can speak. Your voice is choked and a little hoarse, but you manage to eke out an answer. “I want to cum, Sir,” you whine. For a moment, your breath is stolen from you as one of his thrusts hits your cervix harder than before. 

He doesn’t answer, simply reaches down and gets his hand on the back of your neck, shoving your face into the mattress again, his fingers rubbing your clit at a punishing speed.  Your third orgasm hits you like a wave, making you shudder as you feel your wetness leaking out of you, around him, onto the mattress. Involuntarily, you clench around him, and he laughs, sliding his hand into your hair and pulling your head up as he continues to thrust in and out of you.

“You’re going to cum when I cum, do you understand?” he snarls, giving your hair a sharp tug. “ _ Do you understand, you filthy little cockslut? _ ”

“Yes!  Yes, sir!” you wail, your back curving as he pulls your head further back, “Please!”  You try to find something else to say, but fail when his fingers press harder against your clit, breaking your ability to think entirely.  You yelp, and then whine, arching your back further, trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock.  Your cunt is starting to ache in a way that’s more painful than it is pleasurable, but he’s demanded that you cum one more time and you want to obey.  

“Are you ready to cum, filthy bitch?” he growls, his voice deep and demanding, full of gravel, “Are you ready to cum on my cock with your dirty little hole?”  

You can’t even collect yourself enough to say anything, just try to nod even though his hold on your hair makes it impossible.  Your pussy is already starting the flutter and clench around him, and there’s a pressure in your belly that’s threatening to break.  

With every rotation of his fingers on your clit, that pressure winds tighter and tighter and-

“ _ Cum for me, my little cockslut _ .”  And your body obeys, leaves you kicking and screaming and crying with the intensity of it, the way it races through you like a wildfire, consuming you whole.  You’re barely aware of his rhythm stuttering, coming to a stop as he groans, deep and low and shoves himself as deep into you as he can go. 

He cums with a feral, sinister growl, leaving you whimpering as you feel his cum dripping out of you before he’s even pulled out. Slowly, he lets go of your hair, beginning to stroke your back gently as he catches his breath. Your legs are weak, barely able to support your weight as he gently turns you over onto your back once more. You hear the sound of his zipper again before you feel him over you, heat radiating off his body as he kisses up your stomach, your sternum, your neck, before reaching your lips, his hands stroking your sides the whole way, before settling on either side of your head. Slowly, he removes your blindfold, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room again.

His eyes are still bright with arousal, the smudges of black liner making them look an even brighter blue than usual. He smiles at you before laying a kiss to your lips, nuzzling you affectionately. He’s purring gently, which eases a bit of tension from you as he continues to kiss you, murmuring gentle praises against your lips and smoothing your hair back from your temples. You’re itching to touch him, but your hands are still tied. He nips your lip before easing his way back down your body, untying the belt binding your thighs together and tossing it aside before he settles between your legs, kissing your thighs gently. 

He presses gentle kisses up your inner thighs, careful little brushes of his lips over the welts on first one side and then the other.  You sigh, let your eyes flutter closed as he nudges your knees a little further apart, his tongue carefully swiping over your wet folds.  He lavishes you with soft, careful kisses, all lips and tongue, slow and sweet, lapping up the cum slowly leaking out of you.

You feel boneless already, but you melt under his mouth, relaxing until you feel liquid.  You lose track of all time, blinking up at the ceiling as Guy purrs quietly between your legs, the vibrations soothing away any last twinges of pain.  You’ll still be sore tomorrow and you know it, but that knowledge seems dim and far away as you float in the afterglow of intense sex and being cared for afterwards.  

Guy shifts, getting up and crawling over you, brushing his lips over yours, tongue swiping over your lip, inviting you to share.  You kiss him, stroke your tongue with his, enjoying the taste of the both of you on his tongue.  You lose track of time, but the taste of the both of you has almost faded by the time he pulls away.  He’s still straddling your hips as he gently turns you over, unwinding the rope around around your wrists, gently manipulating your hands and arms to work out any stiffness that might have settled in your joints while you were restrained.  He makes quick work of the hip harness too, drops the rope to the floor while he inspects your back.

“You were perfect, Darling,” he purrs, inspecting the shallow cuts. “I should get you into the bath, shouldn’t I?”    
  
“Only if you join me,” you reply, trying to turn over, and he helps you settle comfortably on your back. He smirks, knowing exactly what you’re trying to get at with your suggestion. 

“Maybe another time,” he says, reaching down to scoop you up in his arms. “Because I still don’t think you’ve earned seeing your surprise yet.”

You whine in protest, but he silences you with a kiss, cradling you in his arms as he carries you to the bathroom. You can’t help but melt under him, despite your frustration, since you’re still terribly curious about the surprise. 

You know that the surprise has something to do with those… things on his dick.  Which makes sense, given the way he’s been practically hiding it from you for the past month.  You pout anyway since he still won’t let you see what, exactly, it is and you’re too tired to think about it too hard.  Your brain supplies the words anyway (“piercings” is one, “subdermal implants” are the other), but you just yawn as he settles you on the edge of the bath.

“S’not fair,” you mumble, leaning against him as he fiddles with the taps, trying to get the water to the right temperature, “You can’t just fuck me with something and then not let me see it.”

“And just who’s in charge in this house, darling?” he retorts, bending to twist the plug into place before coming back up, shaking water off his hand, “Turn around.”

Obediently, you turn as much as you can without physically getting up as he looks over your back again.  Pouting, you mutter, “You are, sir.”

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs before dropping a kiss on your shoulder, “No bath things for you today, it’s already going to sting when you get in the water.  I’ll have to disinfect all these when you get out, and that’s going to sting too.”

“It’s worth it,” you say with a shrug.

**Author's Note:**

> we decided to make this a series you all have fun with that


End file.
